


And Neither Have I Wings To Fly

by Thistlerose



Category: Firefly, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't Heaven.  It's just someplace his mind went to keep itself safe while the rest of him splinters and bleeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Neither Have I Wings To Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Contains allusions to torture.

This can't be Heaven.

He's not sure he believes in it, for one thing. And for another … he wouldn't end up there, not yet. He doesn't deserve it. His second act has barely started. When he closes his eyes, he sees a golden scale: on one side, twenty-two mostly worthless years; on the other, a shiny medal and a spaceship as graceful as a swan, which might really be a salt shaker. They hang in perfect balance, waiting for something to tip one or the other.

But this looks like Heaven.

Well. It looks like the empty bridge of the _Enterprise_.

And he might be dead. He doesn't remember dying, but he remembers pain and blood, all his barriers, his dignity and his training torn away. The Donari were cutting into him, ignoring his screams, his desperate insistence that he'd come in peace, he hadn't meant to break their laws—

He hopes he's dead. He doesn't want to go back there.

It's better here, even though he's alone. The ship appears to be moving through a nebula, but it's like none he's ever seen. It's all the blues, greens, and purples of the ocean, and there are curls of white that must be gas, but look like lace, or the foam on the crest of a wave.

And there are stars. They spill across the view screen like jewels, each one a gleaming promise, a call to adventure.

His heart is so heavy in his chest. Which makes him think that he can't be dead. But he can't exactly be alive, because here he is.

"Relax, son," says a voice, so close that Jim and the speaker could be sitting in the same chair. "You ain't dead. Not yet. You're just broken. But your crew's comin' to get you."

Jim can't see the speaker. For a split second he thought – hoped – it was his father, but he doesn't recognize the voice. He can't place the accent either, though it has a twang that's almost familiar.

"What about you?" he asks. "You broken too?"

"Yep," says his invisible companion pleasantly. "Interesting story. So, we returned all the money after the job went south. But it turns out this fellow, Niska…"

Jim hears the ripple of uncertainty in his tone just before he trails off. He wonders at it, but doesn't say anything. That scrap of information confirms the man's claim, as well as Jim's own suspicion that this isn't Heaven. It's just someplace his mind went to keep itself safe while the rest of him splinters and bleeds.

"Jim Kirk," he says, because he needs a distraction from _that_ , because it's polite, and because it's who he is, even now.

"Mal Reynolds," replies the other.

Jim doesn't recognize the name, but he wasn't really expecting to. "So… Your crew coming to get you too?"

"Yeah, they are. They're a good bunch. Don't pay 'em nearly enough, but don't tell them that. Especially Jayne. See, I got this first officer…"

"Me too," says Jim, and he almost smiles, thinking about how Spock is going to chide him when this escapade is all over. Providing there's enough left of him to chide. He and Bones will unite against him, and that'll make it almost worth… He feels his smile fade. "And I have this doctor…"

"Doctors are good folk to have around in our line of work," says Mal. "Starship captains in uncertain times," he adds when he feels Jim's flicker of curiosity. "Mine is … well, the man knows his trade, I'll give him that."

"And you're just going to … hang out in my head until they … come to get you?"

" _Your_ head? Well, that's interesting."

Jim wonders where Mal really is, and what he's seeing. Are they looking at the same nebula, and when they close their eyes, do they see the same scale weighing their lives while they teeter on the crest of death? Can this other man feel the fear that moves through his blood like slivers of ice? His growing reluctance to return to what's left of his body, and leave this calm, this serenity?

"Relax," Mal says again, and something else moves through Jim, something steadying, soothing, like a warm hand ghosting up his spine. "Relax. I've been here before, and we'll both be here again. Shh, now. Your crew's on its way. And until they get there, I gotcha."

Around him, the _Enterprise_ begins to rock gently, like a cradle or a boat on a real sea. Jim closes his eyes and drifts backward into the phantom touch, while the stars burn around him like watchful eyes, tiny beacons guiding him home.

2/13/10


End file.
